


Below Decks: Uncommon Ground

by TheWinterWren



Series: Below Decks [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Internal Monologue, Misunderstandings, POV Iron Bull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 22:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWinterWren/pseuds/TheWinterWren
Summary: In the early days of the Inquisition at Haven, The Iron Bull finds himself conflicted by his first impressions of this budding organization, and the woman who is supposedly the key to saving them all.





	Below Decks: Uncommon Ground

So far, the Captain of the Chargers wasn’t impressed by this declared Inquisition, or the Tal-Vashoth _bas-saarebas_ they called the “Herald of Andraste”.  
  
_I see a lot of eager but green troops, though that Templar training them knows what he’s about. The Seeker does too. Their Ambassador is a solid negotiator,  and that hot redhead running the spy network isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, though I’d expect nothing less from someone known as The Left Hand of The Divine.  
  
_ _But good intentions, and a handful of competent people running without clear direction doesn’t make an effective team, and from what I’ve seen they’re not going to find a leader in Meraad Adaar.  
  
_ _The demon’s in the details. There’s got to be something more.  
  
_ The woman in question was working with Master Harritt at the nearby forge. At this distance Bull couldn’t see what they were crafting, but she was intensely focused on its creation, and it was the most animated he’d seen her since his team arrived in Haven.  
  
He had to admit, for all that he hated Tal-Vashoth, she was easy on the eye, and it was nice to see someone with familiar features in the South. Not that it would stop him from killing her if it proved necessary, but she didn’t look like the savage rebels he'd fought in Seheron, or those hard-ass women he'd met from other merc companies.  
  
_Doesn't mean she isn't a threat. The pretty ones are usually the most dangerous._  
  
At seven foot tall, she stood only a few inches shorter than himself, which lowered the chances she’d be intimidated by his height or strength. So he’d taken the risk on charm and persuasion, figuring a _saarebas_ wouldn’t be accustomed to courtesy. It paid off perfectly.  
  
_Great ass too, though she’s thin for her size. Maybe Vashoth kids aren't as physically strong as properly-bred Qunari?  
  
_ Cool, pewter grey skin that darkened at the horn line, with the clear complexion of someone who cared about hygiene even in the field.  
  
Her platinum hair was secured into thick, braided coils at the nape of her neck, though a few belligerent curls broke free to frame her high cheekbones.  
  
_A practical style, harder to grab in a fight. Pretty color too, reminds me of fresh snow in morning sun. Wonder how long it is when she lets it down?  
  
_ _Focus, Hissrad.  
  
_ Violet eyes the color of pale amethysts -- common enough in Qunandar, exotic in a sea of humans. But he noticed she squinted a lot outside, even in the shade, and was more active at twilight hours.  
  
_That randy chantry sister mentioned Adaar sometimes sought herbs for headaches. Might be from poor vision, or a sensitivity to light that could be exploited. Worth noting. She's favoring that right shoulder a bit too.  
  
_ But what really set her apart were her horns. High, black ram horns sheathed in silver caps, spiraling out to the width of her broad shoulders. An impressive rack for a man, unusually large on a woman, yet on her, they fit.  
  
Striking, he'd call her.  
  
_Or at least she could be if she showed a shred of self-confidence.  
  
_ Meraad moved about the village like a lost child, polite almost to the point of simpering. That annoying slouch to diminish her size when talking to anyone of rank. The plastered smile that didn’t reach her eyes every time people balked at her presence, then pretending not to hear the whispers as she passed. Her sigh of resignation when someone refused her offer of help.  
  
_Seriously, who’s idea of a joke was it to name her ‘Adaar’?  
  
_ _Varric calls her ‘Stormy’, though considering he also calls me ‘Tiny’, I’m inclined to believe it’s ironic. In all the chaos when we first met I didn’t get much of a chance to see her fight, but she doesn’t seem like much of a "weapon" to me, even if she is a saarebas.  
  
_ _Preliminary reports claim she’s been a merc for years. Must have been pretty low rank, which could explain why she’s so desperate for approval. She was just as upset by my stopping her from speaking her patois Qunlat as she was from my confessing I was Ben-Hassrath.  
  
_ _I don’t know. If I had to make my report now, I’m not even sure who’s supposed to be in charge here. If something doesn’t change soon, maybe intervention by the Qun wouldn’t be a bad idea.  
  
_ The sound of heavy feet crunching into packed snow caught his attention as Meraad strode purposefully toward him, carrying a leather-wrapped bundle draped over one arm.  
  
“Captain! Hi. Glad I caught you. Have you a moment?”  
  
“Sure, Boss. What do you need?”  
  
“I-I have something for you.”  She awkwardly offered the heavy bundle. “I’m heading back to the Hinterlands in the morning, and I’d like you to come.”  
  
Barely restraining his suggestive retort until he knew her better, Bull accepted the gear with simple thanks, and she beamed with pride.  
  
_She has a tiny gap in her top front teeth. Okay, that's kinda cute.  
  
_ “I really hope the armor fits. I made sure it’s fully adjustable, and warmer than the gear you’ve got. Figured if you’re representing the Inquisition now you should look the part, and being Qunari myself I know how hard it is to find...”  
  
“You’re NOT Qunari,” he snapped. “You’re _Tal-Vashoth_ . World of difference.”  
  
She visibly deflated as a flush of embarrassed fury spread to the tips of her pointed ears.  
  
“Not by _culture_ ,” she said, the words clipping as her Ansburgian accent slipped through. “But I’m _built_ like one, and most humans don’t know the difference.”  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
“Anyway,” she continued, suddenly unable to meet his eye. “I’ve got other gear to deliver, and things to sort before morning. Please check the armor’s fit, and if anything needs correcting, talk to Harritt. Good night, Bull.”  
  
“See ya, Boss.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

Five days later, Bull, Meraad, Varric and Solas rode down a mud-slick ridge on the way to the Crossroads.  
  
The Captain had casually prodded her in conversation along the way, curious to see if she’d fight back or show any hint of command potential. But even when it seemed the teasing struck home, Meraad would only affect the same plastered smile, and carry on. It wasn’t encouraging.  
  
Solas seemed indifferent to it, but more than once Bull caught Varric resisting the urge to intervene. Could be the dwarf was just feeling protective because she was a woman, or because the guy doing the poking was Qunari, or he was hoping she’d actually stand up for herself too. Maybe all of the above.  
  
_Given how Varric feels about Kirkwall, defending a Tal-Vashoth might leave him conflicted too. That could prove useful.  
  
_ Suddenly Meraad reined her horse and stared off to the northwest, her eyes unfocused in the same unnerving way Dalish did when she was reading weather.  
  
“ _Vashedan_. Sorry, fellas, but we’re not going to make it to the Crossroads tonight, we need to find shelter now. Lot of disruption in the currents from the northwest, bringing heavy rain and lightning. Feels like witch weather.”  
  
Bull squinted into the distance, seeing only a thin line of low clouds over the mountains. “The fuck is ‘witch weather?’”  
  
“I concur with your assessment, Lady Adaar,” Solas chimed in as they carefully turned down a side path toward a former campsite. “The term is colloquial, Iron Bull, but the warning is valid. Just as the Breach affects the skies over Haven, it appears the mages who currently rebel against the templars in the hills have been reckless in their spellcasting, leaving the weather in this already unstable region to become even more unstable. The presence of rifts and demons is likely.”  
  
“Exactly,” Meraad said. “‘Witch weather’ is easier than saying, ‘there’s an unseasonable storm caused by wild magic, and for all we know it could rain fire-breathing nugs. Find cover.’”  
  
“Great, more weird magic shit. How do we counter it?”  
  
Solas shook his head. “This storm is but a symptom of the greater problem. To counter it, we must first eliminate the source of the disruption, then allow the natural balance to eventually restore itself. For now, the safer strategy would be to seek shelter. If you and Lady Adaar will see to the tents and mounts, I shall set wards to help minimize its impact upon us as it passes.”  
  
“Guess that means I’m cooking then,” Varric declared. “Hey, Stormy, think you can scrounge some dry firewood in this muck, and maybe something to flavor stew while you’re at it?”  
  
Meraad led their mounts to the side of the sheltered clearing, well above the stream bed in case of flash flooding. “Sure. Go get your gear stowed while I settle the horses.”  
  
In short order, the team set camp, and Meraad tied an oilskin tarp over the horses’ picket line for added protection. Then she gathered a hatchet and spare sack from the packs and marched toward the trees.  
  
“Hang on,” Bull said, retrieving his greataxe to follow her. “You shouldn’t go alone.”  
  
A flash of irritation crossed her face. “I don’t need...fine. Let's go.”  
  
The Herald moved with surprising ease through the dense forest, and more than once he found it a challenge to match her ground-eating pace. She seemed at home among the trees, stopping occasionally to study specific plants before taking cuttings or harvesting seeds.  
  
A few of the plants he recognized as medicinal herbs that Stitches sometimes asked for, others he had no clue, but they were all clearly significant to her. Nevertheless, they needed firewood, not herbs.  
  
“You know, we might find more wood if we weren’t stopping every ten feet for plants.”  
  
“I was wondering how long it would take before you'd comment. Varric asked for items to add to dinner, Bull, and some of these healing herbs are needed at the Crossroads. But speaking of fuel…”  
  
She found a white tree with large fungi resembling horse hooves growing on its side, and tapped on them with her knuckle. After finding some that met her approval, she drew a knife from her belt and gently pried them from the trunk, then held them up for his inspection.  
  
“Here you go, tinder conks. Really nice ones too.”  
  
“Looks like a mushroom.”  
  
“It’s fuel. Set a spark to one of these and it will make a slow-burn coal that works even in damp weather. The inner layer can be further processed into _amadou_ , which has a variety of practical and medicinal uses, and can even substitute for leather. I should ask the scouts to check the woods around Haven for them too.”  
  
Before he could reply, she raced across the clearing to a low hedge near the stream, and with an exultant cry started filling a small pouch with berries from its branches.  
  
“You’re sure those are edible?”   
  
Her eyes locked defiantly to his as she ate a few, licking juice from her fingers in a way he’d have found pretty hot under less sarcastic circumstances.  
  
"Given these are Bilberries, yes. Tasty too. But hey, if I suddenly keel over or get explosive shits, you can have the satisfaction of telling me I’m wrong again.”  
  
“Nah, you seem to know what you’re doing. Lead on.”  
  
Meraad hesitated, unsure if he was mocking her, then continued scouting up the trail until she found a tall tree with smooth, silver bark.  She walked around its base, scanning the branches above them before making a guide mark on the trunk with the hatchet.  
  
“Perfect. Cut here, please. If my guess is right, it should fall toward that clearing, though I’ll guide it just in case. No sense in damaging the area more than we have to.”  
  
“Why this tree in particular, and what were you looking for up top?”  
  
“Good questions! This is an ash tree. Resilient hardwood, also with many practical and medicinal uses. Best of all, it burns clean and hot even when green cut, so it’s some of the best firewood around. However, they’re also known for dropping branches on the unwary, so you should never camp near one and always look up before cutting. We call them ‘widow makers’ back home.”  
  
Bull lined up his axe to the mark and waited for her to stand clear. “I'll keep that in mind. You know, for a moment there, you almost sounded like a Tamassran.”  
  
“Is that meant as a compliment?”  
  
He struck as directed, his powerful cleaves making light work of the young tree. To his surprise, she snared the falling log in midair with a spell, and eased it gently to the ground with barely a sound.  
  
“Well, _that’s_ useful. And yes, it was a compliment. You’re different away from Haven, and it's nice to hear you show some confidence about something for a change. Did you learn about herbs and trees from your family?”  
  
“Is this an official Ben-Hassrath inquiry, or just making casual conversation?”  
  
“Maybe a bit of both.”

She sighed, and trimmed branches from the log with her hatchet, carefully stripping a few pieces of bark and leaves for later use.  
  
“Look, Bull, I understand you have a job to do, and I appreciate your being up front about it. So I'm willing to help, within reason, but only on the condition you keep my family and home out of your reports. You’re investigating the _Inquisition,_ not them. Are we clear?”  
  
“Alright, nothing in the reports about your family...so long as you’re forthcoming with information we _do_ need. Starting with why you’re hiding valuable skills from the rest of the team at Haven.”  
  
“I haven’t _hidden_ anything,” she snapped. “They just won’t allow me to use them!”  
  
“Really? From what I’ve seen it didn’t look like you were putting in much effort to convince anybody. You seemed more concerned with playing nice, or hoping they’d forget you. Not the best way to earn their respect.”  
  
“Easy for you to say when you come swaggering in with a full company at your back! I was _alone_ , Captain, cut off from my unit for weeks in unfamiliar territory, surrounded by a growing army of angry, grieving humans who initially wanted me _dead!”  
  
_ She cinched a bundle of kindling with a piece of cordage, her voice thick with guilt. “And the worst part of it is, I’m not entirely sure their anger isn’t justified.”  
  
“You mean all that stuff about you not remembering what happened at the Conclave is true?”  
  
“Yes. I don’t remember a damn thing between the point we arrived for the security detail, until I woke up in chains in a dungeon, being barked at by Cassandra. I get bits of images now and then, but nothing solid. It’s maddening not to know.”  
  
He turned a cut log on its end and cleaved it in two, then neatly split it again. “So why didn’t you didn’t run when you had the chance?”  
  
“And go where? With no supplies, no support? Running would only have convinced them I was guilty. Besides, that Breach threatens everything, and I wasn’t raised to be idle. I can’t leave innocents to die when I may have the key to shutting it down.”  
  
Meraad stacked the cut wood and took a drink from her water skin, before offering it to him.   
  
“Tell me honestly, Bull. Do you have a problem working with me?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“By your own admission, you’re only here because you were ordered to be. You've been sizing me up since you joined, and trying to get a rise out of me since we left Haven. I'm not a greenhorn, Captain, I've more than paid my dues. But I can also admit I don’t have your leadership expertise, so if you have something _constructive_ to offer, I’ll listen. Won’t guarantee I’ll implement it, but I’ll listen.”  
  
She stepped close, rising to her full height in blatant challenge.   
  
“ _However._ If you have an issue with my being _Tal-Vashoth_ , or a mage, then get the fuck over it because that’s nothing I can change. I don’t take shit from my own kith, _Serah,_ I definitely won’t take it from you. There's already enough people waiting for me to fail without the _Ben-Hassrath_ breathing down my neck too.”  
  
Bull grinned shamelessly. _“Therrrre_ it is. I found the reports you were actually a merc hard to believe, but I hear it now. What was your rank in your unit?”  
  
“What do you think? I’m a Healer.”  
  
“Didn’t know _saarebas_ could heal.”  
  
“I am NOT a _saarebas_ ,” she snarled. “I am a MAGE. But of course the Qun never gives your poor mages the chance to find out their true gifts before they’re mutilated and chained to be your attack dogs, do they?”  
  
“Heeey, that isn’t fair. You don’t…”  
  
“I confess it never made sense to me how a culture so famous for its efficiency could so cruelly waste one of its greatest potential resources. Makes me wonder how many innocent Healers has the Qun destroyed over the ages out of superstitious fear?”  
  
At his stunned silence, she froze. “You...you honestly didn’t know? I...wow.”  She took a calming breath.  
  
“I have to remind myself you’re not really Tal-Vashoth, and how different our upbringing was. Yes, Bull, Qunari mages can Heal. I was my company’s medic before the Conclave.”  
  
“Soooo..." Bull said, struggling to find common ground again. "You use magic to heal like Vivienne?”  
  
“ _HA!_ Don’t let Madame hear you say that! Yes I can, though as far as she and the Chantry are concerned, I’m nothing but an untrained hedge witch they’re forced to tolerate, never mind my prior field experience.  I’m sure she’s the reason the Sisters kept refusing my help at Haven, which is part of why I left her behind for this mission. I’ve no time for divas out here.”  
  
“Can't really argue with that. Okay, so drawing back to my earlier question, what exactly is your experience?”  
  
“For the record, I’m only a 'hedge witch' by Chantry standards, because there’s no way they’d have let me train at one of their Circles. But I’ve been mentored in Healing, protective magics, chirurgery, and herbalism since I was a child, more than twenty years and counting. I was certified a Journeyman mage to the mercenary’s guild, the equivalent of a basic Circle Enchanter, before I even was allowed to leave home. Over the last decade I progressed to Master rank; the Circle calls them senior enchanters. I didn’t even _learn_ offensive combat magic until after I became a merc, and to this day I’m still strongest with Healing spells and barriers.”  
  
Bull tied the bundles of firewood with cordage as distraction while he processed this.  
  
_She’s telling the truth. Shit. The Ben-Hassrath aren’t gonna like the idea that Tal-Vashoth have their own means of training mages like the ‘Vints do.  
  
_ “That’s good to know,” he replied casually. “It certainly clarifies quite a few things. How do you feel about taking a life if necessary?”  
  
She frowned. “I take no pleasure in it. I prefer to subdue over killing when possible, but if not, I’ll make it quick.”  
  
“I can respect that. I haven’t had a chance to fully assess you in combat yet, but you don’t sound like you're one to stay in the back ranks.”  
  
“No, I don’t. My first priority is to help secure the field to reach the wounded without incurring further casualties in the process. You cover me on the front line, I will always have your back, and I leave no man behind. That being said, I’ll ask _you_ again if you have a problem with me? I do like you, Bull. I respect you as a leader and tactician, and I like the way you treat your company. But we’re on our own out here. I need to know if I can count on you to work with me, as I am.”  
  
“I... _GRRRRRR!”_ Bull growled in frustration and scratched the base of his horns. Meraad dug a small stoneware pot sealed with a cork from her side pouch.  
  
“Here, stop scratching, and rub some of this on.”  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Horn balm. Or at least the closest approximation I could improvise with the resources we had. It’s not the best, but it’s better than nothing.”  
  
He pulled the cork out for a tentative sniff.  “Is it some kind of magic?”  
  
“What? No, there’s no magic. I gathered the herbs from around Haven, and out here, infused them into a bit of beeswax and oil and...look, it’s totally safe, I use it myself. If you don’t want it…”  
  
“No, no, it’s fine. Just didn’t know you did this sort of thing.”  
  
She smirked. “You mean you wouldn’t expect a kind gesture from a _Tal-Vashoth witch?_ ”  
  
“Wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but yeah, that too.”  
  
Bull dipped his fingers in the balm. It was a bit oily, but didn’t smell bad, and by the time he finished the application and resealed the lid, the itching at the base of his horns that had been plaguing him for days disappeared, leaving only a soothing warmth in its wake.  
  
“Wow. Thanks, Boss. Yes, I think we’ll work just fine. I was about to say, I appreciate your candor.”  
  
Meraad blushed and returned the jar to her pouch. They gathered the wood and headed back to camp together, as the first distant rumbles of thunder echoed through the valley.  “And I appreciate your actually hearing me out. Guess we both have some misconceptions to reconsider, _ja?_ ”  
  
“Yeah. And maybe while we’re at it we can work on your weird Qunlat, or whatever that is you’ve been throwing at me.”  
  
For the first time since they met, Meraad Adaar laughed. Not the nervous chuckle he’d become accustomed to, but a genuine belly laugh that rang through the surrounding forest. Bull instantly decided it was a great sound that she should make as often as possible.  
  
“Ohhhh don’t you make fun of me too, _Arschloch_ ,  I get enough of that from my kith!  I am well aware of how Ansburgians sound to non-Marchers, and worked very hard to minimize my accent. Yet any time I returned to the unit after a visit home, I'd have to put up with those cackling bastards asking if I had fun herding sheep and making strudel.”  
  
“Well, did you?”  
  
That great laugh again! “We kept _goats_ , thank you very much. And I make damn good strudel, if I have the time and ingredients.”  
  
“I’ll have to take your word for it, I’m not even sure what that is.”  
  
“WHAT?!  You’ve been out here as a merc all these years and never tried strudel? Oh, Bull, it’s a beautiful, flaky pastry, filled with fruit, or soft cheese, or nuts. My favorite is _Weichselstrudel --_ sour cherry, sprinkled with icing sugar, and served with sweet, hot coffee topped with cocoa-dusted cream...gods, just thinking about it makes my mouth water.”  
  
“That does sound...wait, you know about _cocoa?_ I tried it back in Orlais, and it was amazing!”  
  
“Are you kidding? Ansburgians LOVE chocolate, and coffee! Orlais  _wishes_ it were as good as ours. That’s it, first chance we have, I’m going to write home for proper ingredients and show you the difference. It’s a moral imperative. Your lieutenant mentioned that you like to cook?”  
  
“Matter of fact I do.”  
  
“Great, so do I. Solas isn’t really keen on it, at least not foods we’d find filling, but Varric is. We can trade off mess duty.” She winked. “Then you can show me some traditional Qunari recipes, and I’ll show you why Ansburgian _Tal-Vashoth_ cuisine is better.”  
  
Maybe it was the balm, maybe it was her laugh. Maybe it just felt good to be on familiar ground with another merc. Whatever it was, Bull resolved his report could wait a bit longer while he gathered more information on this strange, intriguing _saar_ ...Mage.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my dear friend Schattenriss for his patience and kindness as I was overrun by plot bunnies, and for beta reading this. Vielen Dank!  
> \------------------------------------------  
> Qunlat translations:  
> Bas-Saarebas = A non-Qunari mage.  
> Vashedan = Crap (literally "refuse" or "trash."); A common profanity.
> 
> Ansburgian translations (in my HC, Ansburg has many similarities to Austria)  
> Ja = yes  
> Arschloch = Asshole


End file.
